Catch What Falls
I do not want a kiss from you, my dear,
Nor do I want a medal colored gold.
Not one of these will bring me much cheer,
For all of these are of a world so old.
Take from me the accolades most high,
Then steal from me my rage, my lust and pride;
Only then can I expect to fly,
Unchained from fears that I'd not dare confide.
Yet somehow clocks don't stop to catch a breath;
My day of judement, with the ticks, draws near.
Between momentous glories, I smell death:
A world that reeks of cruelty and fear.
Perhaps that's why I wish to catch a star:
Swallow it and glow aways without mar.
